Ruined
by MintSauce
Summary: Mickey can remember the first time he got fucked, of course he can, having a dick shoved up your ass isn't something you're quickly going to forget. But the thing is, it's so easily forgettable in comparison to all the times since. And Mickey sort of hates that. Prompt fill for Anon


**For a prompt from anon for Mickey remembering his first time and then thinking how much better Ian is. **

He'll admit that he's not exactly picky when it comes to the sort of people that he's willing to fuck, but Mickey does like to be assured of a few things. Namely that he won't catch anything seriously fucked up and that the person he's fucking knows how to keep their goddamn mouth shut.

Now, Mickey's not ashamed of liking to bottom. Not by any means. Honestly, he thinks it takes a hell of a lot of balls to take it up the ass and not flinch, something he knows for a fact none of his brothers could do. But then, they'd cut the fucker attached to the dick before it even got a chance to breach their ass.

Mickey's not ashamed of being gay, just like he isn't ashamed of being a bottom, but he isn't an idiot. He doesn't have a death wish and he's more than a little bit choosy about who he lets know either one of those pieces of information.

He can remember the first person that he ever let fuck him. He was fifteen and he'd already fucked three other guys and two girls by this point and he was under no allusion that he was gay. He liked the feel of muscle and sweaty skin under his hands, not soft and sweet scented flesh. He liked to be able to bite and grab and not have to fear the person whining like a little bitch underneath him. So, Mickey definitely liked guys. He knew that. But he'd always been more than a little bit curious about taking it up the ass.

So naturally he just grabbed the bull by the horns and told Lucas – who was two years older than him, lived three blocks over and was a decently amount scared of him to make this work – to get the fuck in him before rolling over onto his hands and knees and just waiting. He'd fucked Lucas into the mattress a few times, mattress being the operative term given that they'd only actually fucked in a bed one time. They were in the back room of an abandoned house that stank of piss and meth and had half of the top floor blown away by some sort of explosion – it didn't take a genius to guess what exactly had caused _that_.

Lucas spent a good three minutes fucking about with lube and fingers and mumbling about having to prepare him or some shit, but with each clumsy stab and scissor of his fingers Mickey was just getting impatient. It burned sure, but it wasn't so bad.

Of course, that was what he thought before he finally had a dick in his ass and then it felt like he was splitting open in all the best and worse ways. And after that there was no looking back, because the first time had been shitty, but it had been enough to let Mickey know that he quite liked the feeling of being so full he felt like he was about to burst open at the seams.

The second time was better than the first, the third better than the one before. And it seemed to go like that from then on, just seemed to get better and better as he switched up his partners for more experience, more inches, rougher, taller.

And then came Ian, with his tire jack and his ginger hair and his cock so fucking big that Mickey almost felt like sobbing when it pressed into him for that first time. Because it was so good, so goddamn big and thick and pressing against all the right places. And there were hands on his hips that were bruising and teeth in his shoulder and it wasn't nice and it wasn't gentle. It was just the way he liked it, fast and dirty and with more than a little bit of pain lingering there on the edge of his consciousness.

Ian's hips thrust into him hard and with a surety that no kid younger than Mickey and with such an innocent expression on his face half the time should be allowed. It made Mickey bite down on Gallagher's forearm in a twisted sort of retribution, because Firecrotch hadn't any sort of right to be this good. He didn't have any sort of right to be able to make Mickey feel like his insides were catching on fire with each thrust against his prostate.

It wasn't fair, but it was the closest thing to fucking perfect that Mickey knew he was ever going to get. And the best part – or maybe it was the worst, it depended on how sober he was and how he looked at it – each time still only got better from there.

The only difference was, now his ass was pretty much fucking ruined for every other dick out there. And yet somehow, even when emotions and wordless promises and too many fucking expectations started getting mixed up in there along with the sex, Mickey never could find it in himself to regret that first time.

Damn did he wish he did, especially when Gallagher quickly became the reason he was shedding all of the walls he'd built up around him, but hell, Mickey Milkovich liked cock, it was as simple as that. And if that was the way that the universe wanted it to be, well then so fucking be it.


End file.
